


A French Kiss

by lemoncellbros



Series: Macaw's Works [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Français, French, Hogwarts, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoncellbros/pseuds/lemoncellbros
Summary: Once the war was all said and done, Harry and Draco give their friendship another go. Unfortunately for Harry, Draco constantly murmurs in French to himself, driving The Boy Who Lived absolutely mad.But, what happens when he finds out what he's really been saying?





	A French Kiss

When the war was won and all was said and done, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy decided to give a friendship another try. It had been so long ago that Harry decided Malfoy was an unlikely candidate for his affections that he wasn’t sure who he was anymore. Furthermore, Harry could tell that something had changed within Draco. The war had changed them all, of course, but with Draco it was something different. 

No longer was he resentful of mudbloods, rather offering help and respect to those of a lower standing in the wizarding world. No longer did Harry hear him mouthing off about whatever annoyance he’d faced that day, instead seeing Malfoy bow his head and keep quiet. Harry knew he was lonely, that he faced greater oppression than any other student due to his being a death eater, but Harry also knew that he was forced to be one by his family. 

Harry knew how it felt to be obligated by ones namesake, and therefore made a promise to himself that he would give Draco Malfoy a chance. And, he did. The first interaction was as to be expected between enemies turned not exactly allies.

“Malfoy!”

Draco Malfoy turned to see Harry bloody Potter jogging behind him to catch up, his curls wild, glasses askew.

“Potter?” Draco spoke softy, carefully. He knew not where he stood with The Boy Who Lived, the one who’d won the war he had helped the opposing side in.

“Alright, mate?” Harry seemed almost bouncy, smiling and walking in step with Draco.

“Is something the matter, Harry?” Draco looked cautiously at Harry, while still avoiding eye contact.

Harry tilted his head like a confused puppy, “No? Anything the matter with you?”

“Ah, no,” Draco looked like he was trapped.

“I can go, if you don’t want to talk to me,” Harry sounded so sincere.

Draco quickly backpedaled, “No! I’m just confused as to why you want to speak with me. I’m the enemy, aren’t I?”

“What?! Enemy? You were never the enemy, Malfoy. I just thought it was time that we talk,” Harry was so surprised at Draco’s ‘enemy’ comment that Draco almost believed that he was speaking true.

“Alright, then,” Draco kept walking, “About anything in particular?”

Harry peered curiously at Draco, “Anything, really. What’s been going on with you?”

Draco snorted, “Aside from the war?”

For the first time in any interaction between the two boys, Harry smiled at Draco, and he absolutely melted. He looked so kind when he smiled, so young. Draco quickly shook these thoughts from his mind. He knew he could never have The Boy Who Lived, why even entertain the thoughts at all?

Harry watched with an amused fascination as Draco blushed and looked away from his grin, but continued speaking nonetheless.

“Humour me. What do you do for fun? What do you do when you’re not in class? I never see you out on the Quidditch field anymore, you certainly must be doing something.”

This conversation continued for a while, ending with them at the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory. Draco bid goodbye to Harry and quickly ducked into the dorm, knowing he’d never leave his side if given the chance. 

Their friendship progressed from there, them spending time together during class, in the dorms, and on the Quidditch field. They became more open with one another, eventually feeling comfortable enough to speak freely. This was great, but it also had some peculiarities.

Draco would find himself mumbling under his breath in the language he felt most comfortable in, French. Though the great Harry Potter was quite adept in choice things, Draco knew that he was clueless when it came to language. So, Draco allowed himself the luxury of speaking his true thoughts in a way he knew Harry would not understand.  


It drove Harry absolutely mad. He would be studying with Draco, both reading their books in silence, suddenly entranced by Draco’s smooth speaking. Harry knew it was French, but for the life of him could not figure out what he was saying. His voice was so smooth, accent so refined, Harry would become lost in his words.

“Je veux être avec toi.” I want to be with you.

“Je veux tellement t’embrasser.” I want to kiss you so bad.

“Je suis amoureux de toi” I’m in love with you.

“Dieu merci que tu ne parles pas français.” Thank God you don’t speak French.

Finally, Harry just couldn’t take it. He sat himself down in the Gryffindor common room and crafted a letter to one Fleur Delacour asking what the hell Draco was saying. He pushed aside the aching in his chest as he tied the letter to one of the school’s owls, the loss of Hedwig still fresh in his heart. 

Weeks passed as Harry waited for Fleur’s response. His heart pounded every time Draco spoke the language of love in his rich voice. Since they’d kindled their friendship, Harry had felt feelings for the other boy develop. But he kept it to himself, because he knew Malfoy could never feel the same for him. 

Just when Harry felt as if he couldn’t take anymore of Draco’s sweet talk, Fleur’s response arrived. He tore into the letter in a frenzy, reading Fleur’s delicate cursive as fast as possible. He read that letter at least a thousand times before he made his way to the Slytherin dormitory.

Nothing could stand in Harry’s way as he pounded on the entrance to Draco’s dorm, shouting for him to ‘get his arse out there.’

Draco emerged from his room to find a flustered Harry. He allowed Harry to grab his wrist and drag him out of the dorm. He didn’t ask why, he had a feeling. Harry dragged them down the corridors, passed confused students and whispering staff until a familiar door made an appearance.

Draco entered the Room of Requirement behind Harry, ready to be reprimanded for his choice words over the past few months. He was very much not, however, expecting a firm kiss to be planted on his lips.

Draco squeaked in surprise, but couldn’t help but melt into Harry’s solid embrace. The hype was real, Harry really was an excellent kisser. They became lost in each other, holding on to one another as if they’d disappear if let go.

When they could no longer breathe, they broke apart in a flurry of limbs. Once they’d caught their breath and their bearings, Harry looked Draco deep in the eye and said, in the worst accent Draco had ever heard;

“Je t’aime aussi.”

Though it sounded horrible, the meaning behind the words was not lost on Draco. He pulled Harry into another kiss, one that led to many more.

Even if he couldn’t speak it, Harry Potter sure could French Kiss.


End file.
